War & Peace
by DoomsdayDevices
Summary: Doubts arise as darkness falls on Nautilis. Sazh/Vanille


**I really wanted to do this pairing, but I'm not sure how this turned out or whether I got across what I wanted to say. **

**I borrowed a few themes from L'Amant too, what with the age gap.**

**In any case, this is the best I could do, and I hope I did them justice.**

**None of the characters used belong to me. **

**Edit: (Content changed due to error)**

* * *

_"Kindness like his-you never forget"_

* * *

"Vanille?"

Aboard such distraction as the legions of Chocobos, Nautilis, like many resorts, died upon the hours of darkness. The vast amounts of salivating tourist flooded indoors to bars and underground clubs to satiate other desires, leaving the children firmly within the reaches of the babysitters that the hotels provided.

Such was the purpose of these places.

Gran Pulse, despite its natural grandeur, was sparsely populated, and people were dispersed thinly across the lands. Hence, the crowds and industrious commerce came to Vanille as something of a surprise.

In one sense, it fascinated her. In another, it terrified her. But perhaps what piqued her interest most was Sazh's indifference.

His eyes lit up at the big yellow bids, that was a given, otherwise he seemed not to see the shining lights, hear the loud music with the thumping beats or feel the softness of the forearms of passers-by as they brushed passed him. Vanille had not smelt so many smells in one day, nor seen so many different faces. Did indifference come with age? Then again, Sazh had lived in these places all his life.

They had wandered the streets, somewhat inappropriately for fugitives, listening to people talk about their lives, current affairs, and occasionally, Sazh and Vanille themselves. She wasn't used to people hating her. Every so often, Sazh would turn and murmur something comforting. Often, it was "Don't let it get to you, kid". Vanille wondered how she would manage this, without permanently covering her ears.

Sazh however, found himself unable to look at her. Her eyes burned innocently and childishly. He didn't want to be responsible for her, after losing one child.

_You can't take care of her_.

Here, on this street in the twilight, he heard the light click of her boots stop some paces behind him, and he turned to her, calling her name.

"I'm coming..." she said quietly, looking up at the streetlamp beside her.

She didn't move.

Sazh walked over to her, and observed her preoccupied face, showing his own reluctant concern. Unknowingly, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"What's up?"

Vanille looked at him with large eyes.

"Up?"

"Yeah, what's bothering you?"

"Oh nothing..."

She sat daintily on the sandstone wall, tilting her head back and looking up at the abyss above her.

"Hey, now," Sazh began, sitting down beside her, "You're one hell of a cheerful young lady, most of the time, despite the fact that the whole world wants you dead and you're a pulse l'cie."

She didn't reply.

"So, whatever this is," he gestured to her face with a flick of his hand, "Has to be something serious, right?"

She smiled at him in what appeared to be a feeble attempt to conceal her feelings. It was considerate of her, he thought, to try, but not enough to fool an old father such as himself. He'd had to deal with such things with his wife and son. It was part of his innate nature to suss out what was wrong or face the wrath of an impatient wife, or a teething child.

A thought occurred to him.

"You homesick?"

Sazh certainly was, but he hadn't had a home for many a year. His house wasn't a home without a family in it. When Theresa had died, followed suddenly by his own father, the family home, what with its bountiful garden that he could not maintain without Terry, was too painful to live in. Dajh and himself had moved to a small apartment, with a lost less empty space and a lot less silence. It was a downgrade, but at least he could live with himself. He had thrown all his time, effort and love into his son to ease his guilt. Being without him now was undeniable torment.

He wondered if Vanille, despite her youth, was undergoing something similar. Perhaps she was missing someone also.

Vanille's eyes suddenly flooded with fear. She sensed the approaching question.

"Where are you from anyway? You have a home?"

Vanille just shook her head.

"Home is where my friend is..." she whispered quietly, "My family, I mean..."

Sazh let out a low humming noise.

"I hear ya," he mused, "Hell I know what that feels like better than anyone...Don't worry about it. You'll find your family. People...gravitate to each other, you know. Families, find their way back together..."

Sazh looked out towards the sky.

"Always?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Always, Vanille. I'm sure of it..."

Sazh heard a quiet sob.

"B-but, what if you can't change the past, Sazh?", she whispered, "What if you can't undo the lies you've told? Even the fal'cie can't change the past..."

Sazh stood up to face her, and pulled the small girl up to her full modest height. Tentatively, he placed both hands on the shoulders, and looked into her eyes.

"Then you have to make it right, Vanille. Lies only lead to more lies. You have to make a vow to tell the truth, and you will put the lies right. You can't run away from it..."

"No?"

"We have a saying here on cocoon," said Sazh, realising that he was beginning to sound like his father, "_The truth will out..."_

Genuine anxiety flashed across her face. Sazh saw that his words worried her, and decided to take a new approach.

"We also say, _the truth will set you free.._."

Sazh let go of her shoulders when he saw her smile.

_Freedom. _She liked the sound of that.

"Right," she exclaimed, suddenly animated, "So no more running away!"

Sazh managed a chuckle.

"Except when the army is trying to kill you for being a pulse l'cie. Then, you can run away."

"Right!", she cried again, jumping up and beaming genuinely. Sazh saw the glimmer of sadness behind her eyes, but her depression had seemingly faded. He imagined he appeared much the same.

Her smile evaporated into a yawn, and Sazh simultaneously realised he was tired.

"Come on now, kid, how abouts we check in tonight? No more sleeping on the ground for us!"

"Is that safe?"

Sazh exhaled deeply.

"The way I see it Vanille, if we're going to meet our doom soon, I want to spend my last nights in a comfy bed..."

* * *

"_I'm sorry Mr. Katzroy...there was nothing we could do..."_

_Dr. Shokap..._

"_Her condition worsened during the night...she went peacefully, she wouldn't have felt a thing..."_

"_I'm so sorry, Mr. Katzroy..."_

"_Your son is sat in the waiting room, sir. Would you like us to tell him, or would it be better coming from you? We handle these things with the utmost delicacy..."_

_Dajh..._

"Dad..."

"_Dajh.."_

* * *

"DAJH!"

Sazh jolted upright in his bed, a clash of thunder outside waking him in the midst of his nostalgic nightmare. He felt his back was damp with sweat, and his fingers were clenched tightly into the sheets. He leaned back, about to lay down again.

"Where is he?", sounded a small voice.

Sazh looked around curiously, but without alarm. With the light of the moon he could see her, sat there, shrouded in darkness in the antique arm chair, hands nervously folded in her lap.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, quietly. No anger. Merely intrigue.

He couldn't see the expression on her face, he imagined it was somewhat sombre.

"You didn't lock the door..."

She walked over and perched on the end of his bed, looking across at him as the window pane cast a shadow across her face. He saw the glistening of a tear in her eye.

"I don't know where he is, Vanille," he sighed, "And I'd happily kill to know. "

Vanille flinched. In the light of the moon, she could see his weary expression. Seeming older now, his hair once a perfect sphere was now an unkempt mess. Its young inhabitant was sleeping peacefully in an open drawer.

Suddenly, she pounced across the bed and grasped his hands in hers.

"You're a wonderful father, Sazh. I just know it! You're not running away from him!"

He looked into her eyes.

"I ran away," choked Vanille, "I ran away from _her. _I left her there..."

"And now I'm alone..."

Maybe it was the mutual fear and sadness. Maybe it was the darkness that covered their deeds. One way or another, she leaned towards him, and rested her forehead against his. Tired, he let her.

"I'm old enough to be your father," he croaked, but he barely listened to himself.

"No," she breathed, "You're not...I'm far older than you will ever be..."

At the time, he thought she had meant that metaphorically. That was what was so enticing about her; she was so _uncorrupted_, so _pure, _and yet behind that childish faith, there was some deep, harboured wisdom.

Her breath was so warm against his face. Her _presence_ was so strong.

Her _presence_...

For a long moment they stayed that way, hand in hand. Vanille looked down at their hands, umber and cream, brushing her fingers across his. In a moment of pure curiosity, she raised her emerald orbs and looked him straight in the eyes. He leaned, as did she, into that soft kiss that was so seductively inevitable.

_Bliss. _His lips meshed over hers, and she seemed to sigh gently in this innocent touch, her hands rising up his forearms to his chest.

He pulled back, looking at her face, needy and loving. _What am I doing?_

_So that was it. Now, here we are..._

_How did it come to this? _

"I can't..."

He knows he can't. He is paralysed by his fear. His mark has made him a monster, it seems.

She sees in his eyes, he cannot do it. She is too young. _Too little. _

So she is the one that does it.

Placing both her hands on his chest, she pushes her lips against his fervently, and his hands float about beside him, before resting on the small of her back. He feels her breast press up against his chest. She is so warm. _So soft._

She pushes him down with strength he did not know she possessed, and she begins to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt, pressing her lips against every appearing patch of flesh. She is nervous, he realises. Her hands shake as she does it.

He wants to laugh at this, because his whole body is wanting to shake. He tries to keep himself still. Unyielding.

But when she utters him name, he can't stop his roaming hands. _Foreign lands._

"Take me..." she whispers, "I don't want to be alone anymore..."

He would oblige.

After all, he couldn't hate himself any more than he already did.

* * *

**Thanks for reading =] **


End file.
